“I didn’t think you liked being so popular,” Casale said after a moment.
Patrick turned to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Patrick fought back a scowl. “Youssef is an asshole. So is his wife. It’s not a crime to hate them when they’re shit at their jobs.”
“The fights breaking out between packs are a crime when innocent people get caught in the crossfire.” Casale frowned, the lines around his mouth deepening. “What’s happening won’t be good for your job in the long run.”
Patrick knew that, but his pack wasn’t something he could or would walk away from. At some point, his personal and professional lives were going to collide. But that was in some future even the Fates couldn’t control, and all Patrick could do was walk toward it.
“Lucky for you all I’m doing today is dealing with a stolen piece of art and not a dead body,” Patrick said.
Casale eyed him for a moment before shaking his head. “Word of advice, Collins. Estelle and Youssef won’t back down. Things are going to get ugly.”
“Uglier than hunters with demons in their souls making a mess of the city? You know what they’ve done.”
“Knowing and proving are two separate hurdles.”
It was an argument Patrick couldn’t afford to have in public, even with a silence ward wrapped around them. His position in their god pack wasn’t known yet to the public, even if Casale was tacitly aware of it. The longer he could keep that fact hidden, the safer his pack and his job would be.
“We’ve got a case to work on,” Patrick finally said.
Casale allowed the change of subject without a fight. Patrick drew down his magic, the silence ward fading away around them. Sound hit his ears again, and Patrick shoved aside his worry about pack problems in favor of doing his job.
2
“Another scotch?”the Gucci salesperson asked with a polite smile on her face, crystal decanter in hand. She smelled only slightly of fear, which was a refreshing change considering Jono usually got overwhelmed with that scent in close quarters whenever he went somewhere without his sunglasses.
Still, it tainted the alcohol.
Jono glanced over at the cut-crystal glass resting on the stylish table by the sofa he sat on in the private fitting room they’d been escorted to upon arrival. He’d drunk almost all of the first glass he’d been offered, the taste of the expensive drink still on his tongue, souring in the back of his throat.
“No, thanks,” Jono said.
She nodded and moved on to ask the same question of Leon Hernandez, who had no compunction about taking another glass. Marek’s was only half-empty since it was his turn up on the tailoring dais for the final fitting of his three-piece wedding suit. Patrick would’ve been there, except he’d been assigned a case yesterday and was currently working. His final fitting would have to be rescheduled, but Gucci’s fashion director had said it wouldn’t be a problem.
Apparently money could make the world revolve around you, as Jono was witnessing when it came to Marek and Sage’s upcoming nuptials. Being a tech billionaire meant no expense was spared for the intimate ceremony planned for the end of the month. That included being able to dictate the schedule of a luxury fashion house designer.
“You should have another one. It’s not like it’ll impair you from putting on your suit,” Leon said as he sniffed appreciatively at his drink.
“Had quite a bit last night at work,” Jono said.
Leon nudged the small platter of hearty steak sandwiches Marek had asked be available for today’s fitting closer to Jono. “Then eat something. You can’t have got much sleep last night.”
Jono picked up half a sandwich. “I got enough.”
Truth be told, it wasn’t much, but the hour-long nap he’d snatched in bed with Patrick that morning after closing up the bar had been worth it. Holding Patrick in his arms always put Jono in a better mood these days.
Leon eyed him, brown eyes full of worry, just like his scent. He was the co-leader of the Tempest pack, and his partner, Emma Zhang, was Sage’s matron of honor. Leon would stand with Marek as his best man, and Jono would be walking Sage down the aisle. Their wedding party was small because neither were fans about putting their lives out there for the public to consume.
Unfortunately, privacy was becoming difficult to come by. Ever since Jono and Patrick had delegated Emma as their proxy dire while they’d been in Europe, she’d lost some of her hard-fought anonymity. The encroaching media spotlight was beginning to widen onto PreterWorld, the social media company Marek owned and which Emma and Leon both worked at. The business was profitable, but Jono wondered how much longer it would be before its stock took a nosedive because of their personal lives.
“You’re next, Jono,” Marek said.
Jono watched as Marek was helped out of his suit jacket, the item in question handled carefully. Assistants divested him of the rest of his clothes, the suit needing no further alterations. Jono eyed where his hung from a rolling rack, assistants already working to take it out of its garment bag. He swallowed the last bit of scotch in his glass and stood.
“Stand here and strip, please,” Terry said. The designer pointed at the dais without looking at Jono in favor of loudly directing his staff about as if he were a conductor. Jono could still hear how fast his heart was beating, the hint of fear mixing with his sweat. Terry was good at hiding his fear, but he was still uncomfortable around werecreatures.
